I’ve been playing a lot of Tafl lately. This is, of course, not surprising, as I am somewhat of a fan of chess and chess-like games. Games like Hnefatafl come from the Northern Germanic tradition, Scandinavia, specifically, and possibly date from as early as 400 AD (though perhaps not; see Tafl: An Obsession or the write-up in Wikipedia for more information). They are also one of the most well-documented cases for Celtoi-Germanic cross-culture interaction, as there are versions in Ireland (Brandub), Scotland (Ard Ri), and Wales (Tawlbwrdd or Gwyddbwyll). There are some scholars that believe the Irish Fidchell game was a Tafl variant, but I’m not so sure, and it really doesn’t matter too much – after all, the Irish now have a Tafl variant called “Fitchneall”, which is their word now for chess.

There are strong pieces of culture in all these games, hidden for those that wish to look. The greater number of attackers versus defenders, the goal of capture or escape, and the method of capturing pieces all bespeak reenactments of ancient battles, a major part of life in that time period. The positioning of the attackers around the defenders is a noticeable difference from our modern chess games, which have all one’s pieces start on one side of the board. One can imagine in the Hnefatafl version four Viking ships surrounding a village to capture the king for ransom. In ADF spirituality, all this is important, not because we’re interested in war and battles, but because of the link to the type of culture that conceived of and produced this game. Even if Fidchell is not a Tafl variant, one can imagine Cuchulain studying one of these boards, determining how to strike in order to win. The ability to win at such games was considered to show an uncommonly sharp mind in Ireland, and the Norse sagas mention several times a particular Tafl-player’s prowess being indicative of a strong character. Wisdom and intelligence were as prized as a strong arm and keen wit.

We are uncertain if Tafl was used as divination, as there is no evidence for or against the practice, but we know that Fidchell was sometimes used for this purpose. Sometimes the battle on the Fidchell board played out upon the battlefield; sometimes, the losses of battle caused the Fidchell game to play itself. Separation of the game from the ancient Celtic religion was about as possible as separating farming or spinning yarn – that is to say, everything was both a physical and a spiritual act. In the playing of these cultural games of skill, we can tap into the cultural awareness of that time period; moreover, we can become aware ourselves of the spiritual mindset of those ancient players, that even in play, their world-view was closely considered. Magic was powerful in the Celtic and Germanic mindsets, and manifested sometimes in very mundane ways, such as the pieces on a Tafl board.

I’m thinking of making a set of Tafl boards for SBGH, to use at the Lughnasadh games and other feasting times. The chance to enjoy a cultural game to keep us in the mindset of our ancestors is just too good to pass up.

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